Thursday, December 21, 2006

.e-card.

I made quite a mistake, I only put one 39 cent stamp on my ( lovely handmade ;) ) Christmas cards, unfortunately, the square card that I chose actually takes 52 cents each, SO apparently the mail man may be asking you to give him 13 cents in order to get my Christmas card...so I owe you 13 cents. I didn't plan on charging for my cards, although next year that might not be such a bad idea. So some of you may get my cards and be charged, others may not be receiving a card at all even though I did think of you this Christmas season.

Nonetheless, I wish you all a Christmas full of peace and wonder.
(This is the puritan prayer that I put on the inside of the card.)


O Source of all good,
What shall I render to thee for the gift of gifts,
thine own dear Son, begotten, not created,
my Redeemer, proxy, surety, substitute,
his self-emptying incomprehensible,
his infinity of love beyond the heart's grasp.
Herein is wonder of wonders:
he came below to raise me above,
he was born like me that I might become like him.
Herein is love;
when I cannot rise to him he draws near on
wings of grace,
to raise me to himself.
Herein is power;
when Deity and humanity were infinitely apart
he united them in indissoluble unity,
the uncreated and the created.
Herein is wisdom;
when I was undone, with no will to return to him,
and no intellect to devise recovery,
he came, God-incarnate, to save me to the uttermost,
as man to die my death,
to shed satisfying blood on my behalf,
to work out a perfect righteousness for me.
O God, take me in spirit to the watchful shepherds,
and enlarge my mind;
let me hear good tidings of great joy,
and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore,
my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose,
my eyes uplifted to a reconciled Father,
place me with ox,camel, goat,
to look with them upon my Redeemer's face,
and in him account myself delivered from sin;
let me with Simeon clasp the new-born child
to my heart,
embrace him with undying faith,
exulting that he is mine and I am his.
In him thou hast given me so much
that heaven can give no more.

.wonderfully white christmas.

Brett and Rachel used their 'monster of a beast vehicle' (as brett says) to come visit us and play for a little bit!

Merry Christmas from Brett and Rachel!


( This is me standing in the snow in the swanson's front yard)


Eric and I went snow-shoeing
(their neighbor got half-way up his drive way and said 'good enough')

(last night)



(the soft glow of a snow covered wreath)



(out the swanson's front door...being snowed in isn't too bad!)



Saturday, December 16, 2006

.four letter word (except it starts with a C and actually has 10 letters...but whose counting)

(warning: this is pretty much straight-up stream of conscious…so sorry if it doesn’t make much sense…those of you who understand...will, those of you who don’t…won’t. but I do hope you’ll return for some more polished writing in the new year…that’s one of my completely futile and cliché resolutions)

Commitment: scary…does it make your heart race and cause little knots in your stomach as it does mine? I tend to run away from situations flashing a neon sign saying ‘potential area of personal failure’ (but flickering a tiny little disclaimer of, ‘but at the exact same time possible countless reward”). Everything seems to be simple and clear looking through those tempting little retrospective lenses. I can think of people or ideas or causes that I should have committed to, and there are a few that I deeply regret, having caused undue pain to another or myself (those who I hurt, and what I could have become is what is most regretful). But then there are times when you wipe your brow and say ‘few’ so glad I didn’t go through with that one!! Unfortunately, I can only see so far ahead and looking back can be paralyzing. So when you’re on this side of the ledge how do you know? All that hesitation, is it a sign or is it just those old stones of fear and regret and comfort weighing you down. And just what if…there is always going to be more, more to explore and discover and experience, but does all that running leave you wanting? Does it ever satisfy that which to be perfectly honest is insatiable? And I’m not even so sure that failure even equals ‘wrong’ anymore. Committing is the first step in the right direction I guess. We tend (maybe I should just stick with I on this one) I tend to be a leaf in the wind, swept up easily, floating high and lightly, drifting, falling…all by a simple change in drift, or a short breeze. I don’t want to be stuck, nor do I want to be flighty. I want to explore but I don’t want to run. I don’t want to live looking regretfully back or attempting to manipulate by looking ahead…I just want to be here, now. I can’t make myself ready, I just am…ready or not…I step forward, I jump, I plunge, I risk. I commit (a small step, fearful and hopeful). But I’m absolutely excited about it all.

Don’t run from possible failure, I haven’t practiced this much in my life, but it just seems right. It seems that we are to risk more than staying merely comfortable. Risk, I think you might find it surprisingly peaceful

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

.can i just say.

there is nothing better than the city at christmas time (well maybe the city during the summer and spring and fall...) but the lights and music and people holding hands and coffee cups is something quite wonderful

Saturday, December 09, 2006

.read and reminisce.

The photographs of the summer trip are spread
acrross the table now like litte mirrors
reflecting our place in European history.

They are the booty of travel, bordered and colorful,
split seconds that we pass to friends after dinner
one by one to make them believe we really fround
some sweet elsewhere, away from here.

There we are, the familiar gazing out of the foreign,
stopped in front of a carved Cistercian door,
or leaning obliquely against a kiosk;
frozen behind a blue and white Della Robia,
or parked at a cafe table strewn with phrasebooks,
obscured there in the underexposed shadow of an
awning.

The waiter in the background, mustache and apron,
is carrying a tray of drinks to others even now
as we flip through the stack another time,
noticing how we tried to be as still as paintings
until the quick rustle of the shutter released us

to walk on again, unfocused, unphotographed,
moving down a street of flowerboxes, motorcycles,
two blurs in the weakening light of evening,
black cameras capped, swaying blindly at our sides.

Strange Lands, by Billy Collins
(..for mkh...)

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

.quite a lot.

i miss you